


Snow

by butterflymind



Category: Drop the Dead Donkey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflymind/pseuds/butterflymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some snow, an ace reporter a few security guards and a ten o'clock bulletin. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosmanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/gifts).



> This Drop the Dead Donkey fanfiction was written in December 2010. When student protests about the raising of tuition fees turned violent, the website Wikileaks was publishing leaked American diplomatic cables and snow caused transport and infrastructure problems around much of Britain.

Static burst across the screen and for a moment a picture appeared, obscured by snow both actual and metaphorical. The image quickly descended back into white noise and then darkness, fading out from the edges as if it was being swallowed by a black hole. From somewhere above the monitor there was a loud curse and a hand came down and smacked it sharply, nearly knocking it off the desk.  
“Problem?” Dave asked, sidling over. Helen didn't bother to dignify this with a response, raising her eyebrows she snatched the cup of coffee from his hands and took a long drink. There was whiskey in it, a fact she had been counting on. Dave gave a disgruntled yelp, but had the common sense not to protest further.  
“Damien's snow report. Gus' new security team put it through the x-ray machine when the courier brought it in and now the tape's as blank as Nick Clegg's short term memory.” Helen ejected the tape from the machine and handed it to Dave, who examined it briefly before tossing it on to the desk.  
“Ah yes, Roysten Merchant's state of the art anti-terrorist security system. Protecting us from bombs, violence and broadcastable material.” Dave reached for the phone, “do you want to tell him or shall I?”  
“You do it, I don't think I can take the sound of Gerry sobbing again.” Helen turned away from the desk only to nearly crash into Gus, who was standing behind her.  
“Problem news hounds?” He asked. Reaching over, Helen grabbed the tape and waved it in Gus' face.  
“Your under trained security goons have wiped Damien's snow report. Leaving me with nothing to head the ten.” Gus' face fell briefly, then recovered into a condescending smile.  
“I'm sure they had good reason for examining the package Helen.” He replied.  
“Yes, presumably their reasoning was that any package arriving at a television studios with a tape inside and a 'do not x-ray' sticker outside is automatically suspicious.” Helen tried to step around Gus, but he put an arm out to restrain her.  
“Our state of the art security system was a gift from Sir Roysten, to show his commitment to the safety of his staff.”  
“And so he could show off the prototype 'Roysten Merchant anti-terrorist system' to all his potential clients.”  
“If Sir Roysten chooses to show a few, select, friends around our new system, which he very kindly gave us, who are we to complain?”  
“A news room with no lead story, and” Helen checked her watch, “two hours to come up with one.”  
“And I trust you to do it, scoop-meister.” Gus grinned, clapping his hand on her shoulder. “Now I'm just off to have a chat with our crack security team about some minor tweaks, must make the system fool-proof eh?” He paused. “Not that it isn't already fool-proof. Just need to make sure it's even more fool-proofed than it is already. Excellent.” He strode away across the office and Helen released the breath she had been holding. She heard Dave put the phone down behind her and turned to face him.  
“Anything?” She asked, more in hope than expectation.  
“Damien says he's working on it. Something about Caterpillar being unwilling to rent him a snow plough.”  
“Oh God.” Helen put a hand to her forehead. Dave leant on the desk, his expression thoughtful.  
“So let me get this straight; Sir Roysten spends twenty years selling explosives to anyone with a detonator and a gold card and now he's selling anti-terrorist systems to detect the bombs he probably sold to the terrorists in the first place?” Helen nodded. “Gus is right, it is a fool-proof system.”

*

It was snowing harder than ever. Damien pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, then thought again and loosened it, before discarding it completely. It was pretty difficult to make snow look exciting, but at least he could look like the cold wasn't affecting him. In fact, he was freezing and rapidly losing patience. They had done this once already today and by now he should have been drinking coffee at his desk, trying to persuade the Iraqi authorities that the odds of a second child being spirited out of the country by his camera crew were minimal. And wasn't it just his luck that those records would be the ones to survive from Gulf war part one. A startled yelp drew his attention back to the camera crew and he saw Gerry half sunk into the snow drift they were standing on, struggling half heartedly with the camera.  
“I'm stuck Damien.” Gerry said, holding out a hand to him. Damien eyed the camera speculatively.  
“Can you film it from there?” He asked. Gerry gave him a slightly panicked look and shrugged.  
“Maybe... but Damien my foot is stuck in the...”  
“Lets get it done then.” Damien said, blowing on his hands. With a resigned shrug Gerry reached round to turn on the camera and the sound man moved into position. The fifty quid he had bunged the digger driver to build up a snow drift was worth it, Damien thought. Gave an edge of interest to what was otherwise just white stuff falling from the sky. He sucked in a breath and focussed on the camera, clamping down on the urge to shiver. He had got as far as 'I'm here in...' before the ground beneath him collapsed.

*

“Oh bloody buggering bloody hell!” The explosion had come from Henry and it was not an auspicious start to an emergency news team meeting. Fortunately he was not looking at them but was staring at his own computer. Helen didn't want to ask, but knew not asking would only delay the inevitable by a few seconds. It didn't matter, because George beat her to it.  
“Problem Henry?” He asked, tugging on the sleeve of his cardigan. It was a nervous twitch and subsided when he realised Henry was not yelling at him.  
“They've shut the bloody tube!” Henry pointed an accusing finger at his computer monitor. “Due to inclement weather conditions.” He read in a sing-song voice. “They run underground! What do they think is going to happen? The extra weight of the snow will make the tunnels collapse?”  
“Oh dear.” George said in what he liked to hope was his conciliatory tone of voice. He could hope all he wanted, it wasn't.  
“How the bloody hell am I going to get home?” Joy chimed in from behind him. She gestured to the windows where the snow was falling thicker than ever.  
“And me.” Dave said. Sally, Helen noticed from the corner of her eye, was already reaching for the phone. Probably to call for a driver, or a taxi, or a shuttle back to her own planet. Helen briefly considered making an issue of it, then weighed Sally's potential useful contributions to an editorial meeting against the office disharmony it would cause to point out she was planning a solo escape attempt and decided against. She rubbed her hand across the back of her neck, wondering briefly how she would get home herself, if Amanda could come and pick her up, before focussing back on the problem at hand. Unless they filled this hole in the ten o'clock bulletin no-one was going anywhere for some time.  
“Alright, alright.” Helen raised her voice over the low level of mutinous chatter that had descended. “We need something for the lead on the ten o'clock. Dave, any news on Damien's snow report?” Dave looked up from his computer and shrugged.  
“His mobile's going straight to voice-mail.” He replied, then went back to whatever he was doing. There was a moment of silence and then he spoke again. “The bloody buses have stopped as well.”  
“How will we tell?” Joy muttered from behind him. Helen raised a hand to try and quiet the noise that was welling up. George, surprisingly, came to her rescue.  
“There's this, the government are playing down reports of a document listing what will happen if the economy makes a sharp downturn.”  
“Who cares?” Dave looked up from his computer again. “It'll only contain two words.” Helen shrugged, it would do if all else failed, as long as it was from a solid financial source.  
“Who's reporting that it exists?” She asked. George shuffled the papers on his desk.  
“Financial Times.”  
“Bollocks.” Helen said, resisting the urge to put her head in her hands.“Is there anything in the latest wikileaks stuff?” She asked.  
“Not bloody likely!” Henry exploded from the other side of the desk, having apparently descended into his 'landmine' conversational tactics. “How can you have major diplomatic leaks that are this dull?” He picked up a copy of the Guardian from his chair and opened it. “I mean look at it! Libya pressured us for the release of Al-Megrahi! Bits of Africa are run by oil companies! And surprise surprise, Gerry Adams knew what the IRA were doing! God, only the bloody Americans would need to write it all down...”  
“Yes, thank you.” Helen cut across him before he could really hit his stride. Sally, she noticed, was off the phone and wearing the sort of smile she associated with shark attacks.  
“We better get on” Sally said, “my _driver_ will be picking me up in an hour.” She emphasised the word like a sledgehammer blow.  
“He won't be if we haven't recorded the ten.” Helen told her archly. Sally was about to respond when Gus called out to them from the office doorway.  
“Team!” This time Helen did put her head in her hands. Joy placed a comforting hand on her shoulder in a gesture of silent support for which Helen was grateful.  
“Just a quick word, then I'll let you get back to trolleying the opposition eh?” Gus gave the nervous laugh that meant he was about to tell them something that they wouldn't like. Henry mouthed 'trolleying?' at Dave who shrugged his shoulders in response. “In view of the ongoing weather-related transport impairment scenario, I've decided it might be best if we all had a team bonding exercise in the office tonight. To improve our interpersonal communication and increase our social bonding thinkspace in an evening orientated night-based social networking exercise.” He grinned hopefully at a sea of bemused blinking faces. Eventually, Joy broke the silence.  
“You mean you want us to stay here all night?” She tapped her pen against the pad of paper she was holding with an impressive degree of malice.  
“Oh but I can't Gus.” Sally exclaimed. “My _driver_ is coming to collect me.”  
“Er... yes.” Gus turned his alarming smile on her. “The thing is Sally, there's an ongoing situation in the ingress/egress areas of the building.” Sally looked at him blankly but Helen turned slowly in her chair to face Gus properly.  
“You mean we're locked in?” Helen asked, her tone low and dangerous.  
“No, no Helen.” Gus laughed again, a note of mania beginning to appear in his tone. “There's just a minor issue with the security system and it's operatives.”  
“The security guards locked us in?” Dave exclaimed, his attention finally drawn away from his computer. Gus made a high pitched sound and began to flap his hands as if herding invisible geese.  
“No, no, no. It's just a minor misunderstanding over who was responsible for their pecuniary management.”  
“You didn't pay the security guards and now they've locked us in.” Joy sounded almost resigned to the situation.  
“Well you see, I was under the impression that the security operatives fell under the jurisdiction of Sir Roysten's security services, but it seems that through some silly misunderstanding Sir Roysten through we would be providing the outlay for the personnel.” Helen laid her hands flat on the desk and stood up, turning slowly so she faced Gus almost eye to eye.  
“So, your highly trained, crack security team have used your state of the art, fool-proof security system to lock everyone in the building?” She asked, her voice dangerously calm.  
“Until they get their money, yes.” Gus replied, looking at the floor.

*

Your voice doesn't echo in a snowdrift. This and other interesting facts had been occupying Damien's attention for the past thirty seconds, since he gave up shouting. Suddenly, the light from above the hole he was in was blocked and he looked up hopefully, only to see the curious faces of Gerry and the sound man peering down at him.  
“Get me out of here!” Damien yelled. Gerry grinned at him, then fiddled with the camera he was still holding. A red light flicked on. “Are you filming this?” Damien exclaimed in a panicked tone, as Gerry moved away from the edge of the hole to get an establishing shot. A few seconds later he was back, still grinning and pointing the camera directly at Damien's face.  
“What's this about then?” A new figure joined the group clustered at the top of the hole. He was wearing a fluorescent jacket with police emblazoned across the back and Damien gave a deep sigh of relief.  
“I'm a bit stuck.” He called up and the policeman turned around and peered down at him.  
“Oh dear.” The policeman reached a hand down and Damien grasped it. He was just about to begin pulling when he suddenly paused and looked Damien more closely. “Hey, you're Damien Day.”  
“That's right.” Damien said, happy to be recognised.  
“You did those reports on the student protests at Whitehall last week.” The policeman continued. Damien suddenly felt uneasy but nodded nonetheless.  
“Yeah, well, we have to report on the defence of law and order in our streets.” He said, giving the policeman a smile.  
“You turned up just before they broke the line and started chucking things.” Damien nodded slowly, he really didn't like where this was going now.  
“You were passing out bricks.” The policeman finished. The arm Damien had been grasping was sharply retracted and the policeman leaned back from the edge of the hole.  
“Funny old snowdrift this.” He said, looking around. “All alone in the middle of the park n'all.” He stamped on the snow near the hole with his boot and particles of it drifted down onto Damien's head.  
“I don't think this is safe.” The policeman said, with a serious expression. “In fact I don't reckon I should be standing on it at all.” He backed away from the hole. “Best wait for the fire brigade to come and get you out Mr Day.” He said cheerfully, reaching for his radio. “I'm sure they'll get here eventually.”  
“Should we get down too?” Damien heard Gerry ask. The policeman chuckled. “No, no. You just keep filming.”

*

When the shouting started, Gus bolted for his office like a greyhound out of a trap. He'd been cowering in there for about twenty minutes now, whilst Helen attempted to restore some sort of order. George was engaged in a deep breathing exercise, gripping the edges of the desk. Dave and Henry had produced a bottle of scotch from somewhere and were now passing it between themselves, occasionally pausing to offer the bottle to the younger female members of staff. Phoning the police had been briefly discussed, until George pointed out that the police had refused to attend incidents at Globelink unless Damien withdrew his last four police brutality reports and returned the riot shield he had somehow acquired during the stop the war demonstrations. On the bright side, the lack of transport if they did escape the building meant that most of the staff had accepted their imprisonment, although they had no intention of working while they were there. Even Joy had stepped down her threats against Gus from murder to the much more routine castration. With nothing else to do Helen went back to the problem of the bulletin. Damien's phone was still going to voice-mail and his crew's mobiles rang but remained unanswered. She briefly considered leading on the new Labour manifesto announcement, before realising that even she could not spin that much nothing into a story. Looking at Gus' office door Helen wondered if he was making any attempt to negotiate with the security guards. She hoped not, she quite liked the heat and light in the building and was hoping to keep it. Joy dropped into the chair beside her.  
“Any luck?” She asked. Helen shrugged.  
“Unless we want to lead on where Prince William is spending Christmas, no.”  
“We wouldn't be the first.” Joy tapped her pencil on the desk, thinking. “Why not just send Henry up to the roof? Do a bit of snow covered London stuff.” Helen looked at Henry, he was currently lobbing at peanuts at Dave who was attempting to catch them in his mouth.  
“Hasn't he had a bit much to drink?” Joy raised her eyebrows. “No, sorry, silly question.” Helen amended. She sighed. “But the security guards have locked the roof access.” Joy smiled at her and produced a key. Helen gaped for a moment. “Do I even want to know why you have a key to the roof?” Joy considered and then shook her head. “I thought not.” Helen replied, taking the key. “Henry!” She called across the office. Henry paused mid peanut-toss and looked at her and Helen put on her best persuasive face. “Could you do some copy for a snow piece? From the roof?” Henry glanced at her, then down at the peanut and back again.  
“Piss off.” He said.  
“How about I forget how that £400 bottle of Merlot mysteriously ended up on the company's expense account?” Helen asked. Henry narrowed his eyes at her and then slammed the peanut down on the desk.  
“Alright.” He said moodily, sitting down at his computer. Dave, bereft of a playmate, looked disconsolate.  
“You can check his copy.” Helen told him and he collapsed grumpily into his own chair, hugging the bottle of scotch to himself. “I'm going down to the tech department and see if I can find a sober camera crew.” As she passed Gus' door she turned to look at it. “I suppose somebody better talk to Gus.” She said unenthusiastically.  
“I'll do it.” Joy replied with a concerning level of cheer. Helen briefly considered stopping her, then decided that Gus probably had it coming.  
“Fine.” Helen said and left the office.

*

Eventually, Damien heard the rumbling of a fire engine. By now a small crowd had gathered and he had been gawked at by several members of the public. As yet another shadow was cast over him from the top of the hole he turned, ready to release a stream of profanity into the next smug smiling face he saw. He was cold and wet and he wanted very much to go back to the office, he also wished that he hadn't thrown his scarf away before starting the report as the snow melting in his hair was sending an unpleasant trickle of ice water down the back of his neck.  
“Hello there.” The man looking down on him was wearing a fireman's uniform and Damien almost cried with relief.  
“Hello.” He responded. The man looked at him, then at the hole.  
“Well, this is a bit of a pickle, isn't it.” Damien wanted to snap at him for stating the bloody obvious but with a great effort held his tongue. “Hey, you're Damien Day.”  
“Yes, yes I am.” Damien replied as neutrally as he could manage. The man scrambled away from the edge of the hole, only to return moments later with another fireman. The first man pointed at Damien.  
“See I told you. Damien Day.” The second man nodded, then reached a hand down the hole. Damien took it, only to find himself shaking hands with the second man.  
“Hello Mr Day.” The second fireman said. Not trusting himself to speak Damien merely produced a grimace like smile in the man's direction. “We've met before.” The man said. Damien looked up at him, studying his face. A familiar sinking feeling was forming in his stomach. “On the pickets in Holloway last month. Don't suppose you remember?” Damien shook his head.  
“Can't say I do.” He said uneasily. The second man grinned at him in a way that was horribly familiar.  
“You paid some lads fifty quid to dress up and get in the way of a fire engine.” He said. Damien shook his head, feigning innocence.  
“I don't know what you're talking about.” He gave a nervous laugh. “You know how it is at these demonstrations, there's always someone out to cause trouble.”  
“Yes, but someone gave them Fire Brigade Union t-shirts.” The man said. Damien swallowed hard and looked at the floor. After a long pause the second fireman turned to the first. “Looks like a difficult extraction Geoff.” He said. The first fireman nodded, smiling.  
“Probably need extra equipment.” He leant across the hole and looked down at Damien. “You just sit tight Mr Day. We'll get you out of there.” There was a pause. “Mind you, it might take a while.” The man said, and laughed.

*

“That's funny.” George came back into the office shaking his head. Distracted by last minute changes to Henry's report Helen only gave him half her attention.  
“What's funny?” She asked, still staring at the screen.  
“Gus isn't in his office.” George replied, sitting back down at his desk. Helen looked up, momentarily startled.  
“I didn't see him leave.” She said.  
“Neither did I.” George dug around on his desk until he found a packet of pills. He popped two out of their foil and chewed on them thoughtfully. “How's the snow report looking?”  
“Well I've removed all the references to London transport and J. Bruce Ismay.” Helen replied. She looked at her watch “I think we better just do it, we're cutting it fine as it is.” Henry appeared behind her, tightening his scarf. Helen hit print and handed the paper to him. “The crew's already up there.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for this.”  
“Don't mention it my dear.” Henry patted her on the shoulder, having reached his magnaminous drunk phase. Helen tensed, but held her peace for the greater good of news broadcasting.  
“Good luck.” She said instead.

“Christ it's cold.” Henry grumbled. He glanced at the sheet in his hand one more time and then crumpled it up and put it in his pocket. “Let's get this done quickly.” He settled himself into a stance and schooled his face into serious reporter. God he was drunk. The camera man flicked a switch and held up his hand.  
“Five... four... three... two... one...” The hand went down and Henry began.  
“I'm here on the rooftop of the Globelink building, looking out across a paralysed London. There are no flights from any of the...” Henry slowly became aware that there was a background noise other than the occasional slushing of a skidding car. “Do you hear that?” He asked the crew. The sound man took off his headphones and nodded. They waited for a moment and the sound came again, a dull thumping followed by what sounded like a muffled voice.  
“It's coming from over there.” The sound man pointed to a metal shack to the left of them. A bag of cement was propped against the door.  
“Help me with this.” Henry called out. He and the camera man manoeuvred the sack out of the way and cautiously opened the door.  
“Henry! Thank God!” Gus was crouched inside the shelter, his wrists tied to a metal pipe with what looked suspiciously like videotape. “And... Bob!” He grinned at the camera man.  
“Tony.” The camera man replied with a frown.  
“Joy told me the security guards wanted to meet me here, on neutral ground.” Gus explained. He gestured to the videotape. “They tied me up.” His tone was deeply affronted. Henry looked at him, then at the videotape and the sack of cement. Gus continued, “I don't know why. I offered them a generous remuneration package containing vouchers for the Roysten Merchant fitness centres and shares in the Globelink corporation. And I generously chose to overlook their unlawful hijacking of this building.” He sighed in genuine frustration.  
“I can't think why they turned you down.” Henry said drily. Gus nodded.  
“Exactly.” He replied. Henry shook his head and let the door swing closed again. Tony helped him to put the bag of cement back.  
“Henry! Mate!” He heard faintly from behind the door.  
“Right, lets get on with this.” He said to the crew, moving to the furthest point from the shack on the roof. “Ready?” He asked. Tony nodded and held up his hand again.

*

It was forty-five minutes by Damien's watch when he finally heard the sound of another vehicle approaching the hole. From the noise he guessed that the crowd had become quite substantial, but no-one had come to peer down at him for a good twenty minutes or so and he was beginning to feel lonely. Well, not lonely, Damien Day did not get lonely, but the hole was cold and it was getting very dark now and he wished he had a light. He heard shuffling above and looked up to see the fireman from earlier, now equipped with a large torch that he was shining down at him.  
“We're just setting up a hoist Damien.” He said. He played the torchlight up and down Damien's figure then leant back, considering. “We might have a bit of a weight problem.” He said at last. Damien looked at him and slowly repeated.  
“A weight problem?”  
“Yeah.” The fireman was looking between Damien and something beyond the edge of the hole that he couldn't see. “It's all you clothes and stuff, that winter weather gear. Might make you a bit heavy for the hoist. You wouldn't mind just taking the coat off for us would you?” Damien glared at him.  
“It's minus four!” He exclaimed. The fireman shrugged.  
“It'd really speed things up.” He said. Damien glowered but slipped his coat off and handed it up to the man. Somewhere above the hole Damien heard Gerry's voice raised in greeting.  
“Who's he talking to?” He muttered half to himself. The fireman looked round and grinned.  
“Looks like some friends of your cameraman have turned up.” He said cheerfully.  
“What friends?” Damien asked. He had started to shiver.  
“Oh, nothing to worry about.” The fireman looked down at Damien critically.  
“Hmm. Think we might have to remove a bit more than that coat Mr Day.”

*

“Er... Helen?” Dave called across the office, his tone one of horrified fascination.  
“What is it now?” Helen asked, coming over to join him. The ten had gone out in the end, less disastrously than she had expected. The sound department had been strangely co-operative when it came to rapidly removing the mysterious background noise that had been marring Henry's report. George, Henry and Joy drifted over to join Helen and Dave at the TV and Dave gestured wordlessly to the screen. Helen turned to look and her eyes widened. “Is that the Beeb?” she asked. Dave nodded.  
“Explains why his mobile wasn't working.” Joy remarked, smirking. Henry grabbed the control from Dave and turned up the sound, the dulcet tones of the BBC reporter echoing around the office. On the screen Damien, who was wearing only his boxers, was being hoisted from a snowdrift.


End file.
